Wow I can't believe how much has happened since I last wrote!! Ok I'm going to try to do this at lightning speed because I don't know how much longer this computer will work. I woke up on my first morning with my eyes glued shut from dust. The mosquito netting tangled around my legs and my shirt up around my neck. Sometimes I'm so classy I wish I could marry myself ;) Really, you should have been there. I chatted with Meghan, my Canadian roommate about how we had no idea what the plan was for the day. Do we leave the compound on our own? Do we get breakfast? We knew nothing and we were the first volunteers on site. We decided to wander.
We met a girl named Angel at the compound. She touched us all over. Our faces, our hair, looked in our pockets. She made me take out my tongue ring to show her that it went all the way through. I guess they don't get that one much in Africa! She kind of tried to hustle us a bit, and she did well until we caught on. Making off with my bracelet, lipsmacker and Meghan's Dentine gum and a pack of Kleenex. The latter more valuable than the former by far. We laughed a bit and went back to our shack.
Musa, our guide (who's name means Moses) took us to town. We were shocked! We rode in a daladala for the first time. It's a car with maybe 7 seats in it, but holds at least 18 people at any given time. I thought he was going to say that it was full when it pulled up, but he told me there was "plenty of room." Haha. So Meghan and I had a real bonding experience, sweating all over random people. It was awesome. I stared out the window, completely wide eyed, looking about as out of place as I felt. I waved at people and they waved back.
Africa is a wasteland. There is no road. Only dust. The seats aren't bolted down and the road is bumpier than anything I have experienced. We complain so much about not having enough buses, enough seats on those buses and the wait times for the skytrain. No one in Canada could ever imagine this place. The desolation looking out the window. The dust, the beggars on the side of the road. The buildings are crumbling and dilapidated; the start of a promising future abandoned. Africa is construction that will never be complete. It has the feeling of a kid who wants to build a fantastic robot for a science fair and then disbands it halfway through when he realizes how impractical that dream is. Africa is a hopeless landscape filled with smiling faces.
We get to town. I stare and stare and stare. I am in awe. We pass a government school with children playing kickball in the dirt. Outside, a woman breast feeds her baby on the sidewalk with her other child sleeping beside her. We joke about the kids covered in flies. We laugh about it, but it's really not funny. We, in North America do not have the stomach for this kind of suffering. For the complacency in which it exists here. Everything is bleak. Everything is broken, everything squeaks, leaks, coughs, backfires, begs. We don't understand how children could live in such poverty. How people can step over a homeless woman breastfeeding her 2 small children. I don't know how I will ever be able to come home to live my life of privileges and forget about what goes on here. Already. I'm not even in the heart of poverty yet. It's all downhill from here, sister.
On a lighter note, the other volunteers have finally arrived. We all met at Coco beach. Musa told us not to swim there because we were too white, even though Carly and I wanted to run in with our clothes on. Instead we ordered beers (Kilimanjaro Lager) and ate seafood and Chris beat the locals in round after round of pool. I met a Masai boy about my age on the beach who told me he was from a tribe in Arusha. We walked along the shore and he showed me different kinds of coral and told me random facts about Tanzania in broken English. It was pleasant. There was a wedding going on, which is why Musa didn't want us to swim, I guess he thought that a bunch of crazy half naked white kids running down to the water would crash the party. We stayed until well after sunset. Then We all frolicked in the surf and these crazy beautiful white crabs ran out ahead of us, startled. We though that was really neat and these young local men caught some for us to look at. I have a photo of one and me pretending to lick an aforementioned crab. I also took a photo of the Masai boy and his coral. It was a fantastic night and Musa told us that he would take us to the "white people beach" the next day, since we we all really wanted to swim.
The next morning we hopped into a Daladala and began the exciting journey to Kipepeo beach. This involved transferring at a coastal market. WOW! The market was packed with people. It was all rickety wooden stands selling everything from whole dried fish to flip flops. The air carried powerful scents of the sea, frying potatoes and unwashed people. We were ALL agape by now. Everyone was calling out to us to buy from their stands. Musa took us to a diner and we ordered rice and (either beef, fish or veggies). I had veggies, it was beans and spinach and was fantastic! Oh I forgot to mention how cheap everything is here. I have spent all of $10. It's 20 Canadian cents for a Daladala, 1 Canadian dollar for a meal, 20 cents per half hour of internet. This is the benefit of being Western in a 3rd world country.
We then took a ferry across a canal. The ferry was chaotic. People yelling, standing alongside cars. Everyone carrying more than I had thought was physically possible, mostly on their heads. One small boy carried a plastic bag, from which a chicken's head poked out and freaked the crap out of Anna. The smell of exhaust and dead fish was thick and stifling. I loved it.
Once again im switching to present tense for time's sake and descriptive merit: We get to the other side. Musa tells us to stay together, hold onto our bags. We do what he says. We watch that our toes don't get run over and that we don't get pick pocketed. We look afraid. We walk off the ferry and the bay is full of rickety rafts and skiffs. The water is dark with pollution. I think "yeah, white person's beach, far far away from the good areas. Out of sight." I think we're all thinking that at this point. We walk. The sun is scorching and I can feel my face getting burned. I am soaked with sweat. I've never sweated so much in my entire life. We take another daladala. It's like putting a bunch of overheated, exhausted people into a steam room. I feel like I can't breathe. My sweat has soaked my shirt and pants. I don't even care about sweat marks. This is Africa, it's expected. After 45mins, the daladala lets u s off at the beach. The sign reads "Welcome to Kipepeo Beach" Haha I think, this is going to be a joke.
We all fall out of the daladala. I hit my head on the way out. I do this every time. It's just what makes me unique. I feel that I don't look like enough of a tourist without sustaining a minor injury when entering and exiting local transportation. It's all part of the plan. We walk into the beach area and I can't believe my eyes. Never, in my life, would I have thought that I would see the exact place that I dream about. Ever. It is perfect. The sand is pure white. Blindingly so. The water is such a light blue that it doesn't look real. The beach is lined with palm trees and grass huts and there is music playing. Rickety rafts are docked all along the inter tidal zone and men paddle skiffs lazily along the coast. Small children are giving each other piggy back rides and it's sunny, as far as the eye can see. It looks like the tropics of the pirates of the Carribean. I've never seen anything like it in my life. Sorry Mom and Dad, but Hawaii, ain't got nothing on this place. We are ecstatic. We run to the ocean. I rip my clothes off and dive in. I am laughing so hard with excitement that I get a nose full of water. Salt water. It's glorious. The water is like a bathtub. People always say that, but this really was. The Indian Ocean. My new favourite place to be.
We all swim and do handstands and there is this great pirate raft about 100 meters offshore. Jeff and I swim to it. Chris and Charlie told us that there were flying fish out there. They were right. Hundreds of them, all around. I fear that they will jump into my mouth when I come up for air. They are small and silver and they shine like metal. I am beyond happy here. We lay in the sand. We read. We talk. We listen to music. The boys play volleyball and the girls lounge. We spend all day here. I wish I could never leave. Ever. I feel that I will spend my whole life trying to get back to Africa.
We are on our way back to the compound and can barely keep our eyes open when Musa asks us if we want to eat. We forgot to do that. We get off the Daladala at Kilwa road pub (the road the compound is on). It's outdoors and just a canopy with lawn furniture in a field. There is a live band playing this great African music and we run into the fray. Everyone is smiling. Everyone is dancing. I don't mean shitty, grinding, dry hump North American dancing. I mean moving to the music. Arms up, anything goes. They danced like children would dance, if they never got to the age where people told them they look ridiculous. They danced as though dancing is not done to be seen, but to be felt. We all felt it. The energy on that dance floor was pure, unadulterated happiness. That does not exist in Vancouver. I didn't think it existed anywhere. But there, in this little shack on the side of a dirt road (if you could even call it that) amid the dust and ruins, we saw this amazing celebration of existence. They danced and danced and the band played and played. The songs seemed to never end. All ages, young, old, fat, slim. There was no trend, no fad. People got lost in the music. They way we used to. When we were little. Everyone was smiling, everyone was laughing and everyone was having a good time.
We had dinner. Charlie and Chris ate whole fried fish (head and all) and I hate spinach and rice. I tried the fish and it was REALLY good. We finally went back to the hostel and passed out. I've never slept so well in my life. I can't explain Africa. It is hardship like I have never seen, but also unparalleled happiness. You can't imagine this place. I can't even wrap my brain around it. It's just so surreal. This is not a place Kelly Christie from Canada could ever think up. This is beyond. This is fantastic. Tomorrow we leave at 5am for Singida. We had Swahili training today, I'm proud to say that my Kiswahili is coming along nicely. I love the people. I love the language. It rolls off your tongue. It's delicious.
I have to go now, my time is up. I will not be able to email for a long time. My hotmail isn't working here. I'm surprised this is. I tried to upload photos, but it's a no go. I will write whenever I can. I will be without electricity, running water and communication for the next 4 weeks. Don't worry about me Mom and Dad. I am with the group. Musa is good, he will watch out for us. You would like him. I am not sending any direct emails due to the time. Know that I love you! I miss you and I definitely wish you were here! I bought a cheap cell phone and I will call if i can get it to work with a phone card. Ok I'm out. Wish me luck in the desert. I will need it. Apparently this, this city, is nothing compared to what awaits us out there. This is the real adventure. This is my life. And it is so awesome, I can't even believe it :)
